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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29126355">Twelve Turns of the Moon</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Queen_In_The_North/pseuds/The_Queen_In_The_North'>The_Queen_In_The_North</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Outdoor Sex, POV Sandor Clegane, Sneaking Around, Suicidal Thoughts, Vaginal Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:00:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,835</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29126355</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Queen_In_The_North/pseuds/The_Queen_In_The_North</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Now a Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch, Sandor Clegane reunites with the Queen in the North during her annual visit to the Wall.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>166</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Twelve Turns of the Moon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello!<br/>I'm adding a little note here to let you know that this story does not have a "rides off into the sunset" ending. It's very bittersweet, which I hope I made clear in the tags so I don't mislead anyone. No one dies or anything, it's just a story about forbidden love and SanSan doing all that they can in the world they live in.</p><p>Anyway, I hope you enjoy this story! ♥</p><p>Inspired by Ecclesiastes 3:1-2 and the song <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t3cVeqyyhXk">"Never an Absolution"</a> by James Horner.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Queen in the North visited the Wall every twelve turns of the moon.</p><p>Today was the first day of her third visit. The first day of the one fortnight she would be here. Sansa Stark rode in through the gates on her white palfrey alongside twenty northmen just an hour before dusk. The weather had favored her travels, and so it favored them. Him and her. Their one fortnight out of the year.</p><p>Three years it had been since Sandor Clegane had joined the Night’s Watch. Death would have been easier. Death had been what he wanted for years.</p><p>Until she came back.</p><p>Sandor had been a fool to leave the Quiet Isle in search of some greater purpose at the behest of the Elder Brother, and then an even bigger fool to assume Stannis Baratheon would spare him his life after helping defeat Lord Bolton’s army at Winterfell. Then again, it had not been Stannis’ idea at all, but rather those grudgeful, unforgiving, bloody northmen. It had been them who had persuaded the “rightful heir to the Iron Throne” that it would be for the betterment of Westeros if the last Clegane was put down for his past crimes and sins, most of which he had taken no part of.</p><p>It had not mattered what he was or wasn’t guilty of. Sandor’s fate had been decided that day, and he was ready to welcome it with open arms.</p><p><em> I’ve been dead for years, </em> he had thought, when Jon Snow was leading him from the cells to the wooden block in Winterfell’s main yard. <em> I’ve been dead inside all this time, yet not one day did I have peace. Not since abandoning her. Not since leaving her to the Lannisters. </em></p><p>It was his biggest regret, leaving her. A regret that haunted him every hour of every day, awake or asleep, sober or drunk. Sandor had left her the night Blackwater Bay burned, but before that he had frightened her. He had put a dagger to her throat, in his horrified, drunken stupor. A girl of three-and-ten, she had been. A highborn lady - gentle and pretty and courteous, yet clever and fierce, more so than she let on. She was everything that he ever wanted. Sansa Stark was everything that he ever wanted since he was a boy. And six years ago, Sandor had left her with nothing but a bloody cloak.</p><p>As he sat inside Castle Black’s common hall that evening and watched the visiting queen take her seat at the dais, Sandor thought about the way she had come running through the gates at Winterfell those three years ago.</p><p>Sandor had just laid his head on the damp, frigid block of ironwood when the sound of a woman’s voice shouting over beating hooves made the world stand still. After turning his head and catching a glimpse of long, flowing auburn hair through the drifting snow, Sandor had been certain that he was dead, that Stannis Baratheon’s flaming sword had come down painlessly and sent him to heaven rather than hell. </p><p>If Sansa Stark was there, it had to be heaven.</p><p>Sansa’s horse had not even come to a full stop before she was swinging down from the saddle, her face - her pretty, pale face - horror stricken at the sight before her, at the sight of him about to receive his due punishment by the self-declared king.</p><p>The years apart had changed her, to no surprise. A girl of three-and-ten had become a young woman of six-and-ten, all the more beautiful, all the more fierce. He had seen it at once, the ferociousness in her eyes. Sandor had seen that look before, years ago, when Sansa would have pushed Joffrey to his death after being made to look upon her father’s severed head. Sandor had been able to stop her then, subtly and carefully, but there had been nothing he could do to stop her then, not when his hands and feet were bound by rope and a sword engulfed in flame was one breath away from hacking off his head.</p><p>No, it had not been his turn to save her life, but her turn to save his. And that she did, flitting through the snow-covered yard and throwing herself on top of him.</p><p>Time had fully stopped then, just as it did now, watching the queen smile coyly at him from across the hall. Once he looked at her, he couldn’t stop. It left him awestruck to see something so beautiful, so graceful, so pure, after twelve turns of the moon of seeing no one aside from his brothers in black. Sansa was already undeniably beautiful, more beautiful than anyone or anything, but the time apart enhanced her beauty. The time apart made it burn. It made him never want to look away, not to blink, not to eat, not to go outside and take a piss. Sansa would be gone again in a fortnight. One bloody fortnight. </p><p>Fourteen short days, and then gone for another twelve turns of the moon. </p><p>It always began with admiring her beauty. Sandor would watch her eat beside the Lord Commander and indulge in the sight of her small, dainty fingers wrapping around her cup just before her mouth parted open to take a sip. That’s when it would turn into something else, thinking about how that same pretty mouth would part open much, much wider to suck his cock. </p><p>Her beauty fed his lust for her, kindling a fire in his loins that burned as fiercely as the hearth inside the hall. It was the only fire he’d never fear, because Sansa was the spark that ignited those flames. Sandor yearned for her warmth and intimacy for twelve turns of the moon. One long year. But tonight, the pining would end, if only for a fortnight.</p><p>Sandor would have her once again.</p><p>She had come to him that very first time three years ago, sneaking into the barracks and waking him up from sleep with a gentle kiss on his lips. Sansa had still been the Lady of Winterfell then, this happening shortly before Stannis won the Iron Throne in the south and acknowledged the North as an independent kingdom upon the incessant demands of the northmen. Sansa had also been a maiden when she came to him that night, chaste, a woman grown, yet as innocent as the day he met her.</p><p>If he did not already have one, he doubtless had earned a spot in the seven hells for sneaking her into the Shieldhall in the middle of the night those three years ago and stripping her of her maidenhead. There was no way to describe how it felt that first time with her. It was an experience a man would die for, a sensation a man would kill for just to have one taste. Not just the wetness and tightness of her cunt, but the touch of her lips as they quivered against his own, the manner in which her hands caressed his arms and clutched onto him when his cock filled her for the very first time.</p><p>Sandor felt something wet in his hand and looked down, discovering a broken cup in his hand. The queen’s eyes left her bastard half-brother and smiled at the sight. Sansa would have known. And when the Lord Commander caught her smiling, he looked over at him and frowned.</p><p>Jon Snow knew. He knew from that very first night when his bloody albino beast led him to the Shieldhall. Not only had Sandor broken his vow of celibacy, but he fucked the Lord Commander’s own sister right underneath his nose. Sansa’s maiden’s blood was still wet on his cock when Snow had barged into the hall. Sandor had never seen a man draw a sword so fast.</p><p>But Sansa had saved his life again that night. Twice in one year she had saved him. The bastard would have beheaded him before he could put his cock away had the little bird not convinced him to listen. Sandor had never met a person more clever than her. It was the wolf she had used - Ghost. Snow’s pup was gentle with Sandor, not once showing signs of hostility. And although the beast had led his master right to them, he had not done so aggressively. At least that was what Sansa had explained to the bastard. And because of his clever little bird, Sandor was able to keep his head - again.</p><p>Perhaps the bastard allowed him to live because he pitied Sansa for all of her past misfortunes, or perhaps he only spared his life because he desperately needed men as capable as him on the Wall. Whatever the deciding factor was, Snow let him live, and the secret of the Hound taking Sansa Stark’s maidenhead remained a secret between the three of them. </p><p>Much like the secret that every single night for the next fortnight he and Sansa would find one another and fuck until dawn.</p><p>The Shieldhall was where they normally met, during the hour of the owl when his brothers in black would be asleep, save for the ones on duty. Snow might have never <em> explicitly </em> told Grenn and Pyp and Satin and Halder about him and Sansa, but even thick-headed Grenn was starting to notice a pattern. When the queen visited, it was always them on duty in the yard. But the Shieldhall was not where they would be meeting that night, he would soon learn.</p><p>The Queen in the North looked at him once more, no longer smiling, then arose from her seat. The men of the Night’s Watch arose with her, Sandor quickest of them all, and then returned to their seats once she was escorted by Dolorous Edd, the Lord Commander’s steward.</p><p>Now, Sandor need only wait for the night to grow old. Just a few more hours after twelve turns of the moon.</p><p>“The Wall,” the bastard muttered to him, perpetually sulking as they walked into the yard together an hour later.</p><p>He and Jon Snow were brothers now, black brothers, but seldom did they get along. Sandor never would forget that it was the bastard who led him to the yard to be executed by Stannis. </p><p>“The <em> Wall</em>?” he barked. “Why the buggering hells do we need to go up to the Wall?”</p><p>“Her idea, not mine,” Jon grumbled. “Satin will take you up. I’ll post Grenn and Pyp far enough away from the crane to allow the two of you to talk inside the warming shed.”</p><p>He snorted back laughter. “Is that all you think we’ll do? <em> Talk</em>?”</p><p>“I don’t want to know what the two of you do,” Jon Snow told him, keeping his voice low. “I only want my sister to be happy. Sansa deserves to be happy.”</p><p>“Hard to make her happy up there,” Sandor thought aloud. “I can barely fit inside the warming shed, let alone fuck in it.”</p><p>The bastard came to an abrupt halt. When Sandor followed suit and turned around, he observed Snow flexing the fingers of his sword hand. “Watch how you speak of her, Sandor,” the Lord Commander threatened, anger flashing in his eyes. “That’s an order.”</p><p>Although Sandor would have sooner laughed in the bastard’s long, gloomy face, he responded with a curt nod, not because he gave a single fuck about his orders, but because he could not risk losing the opportunity to see Sansa later that night.</p><p>He spent the next two hours inside the barracks, feigning sleep and counting the seconds. If the wrong black brother learned what he was up to, half of the Night’s Watch would be badgering Jon Snow on the morrow to take off his head. And what a farce that would be; the vow of celibacy was rarely upheld. Half of the men in the Night’s Watch fucked whores in Mole’s Town, and they visited far more often than once every twelve turns of the moon.</p><p>Every minute passed slower than the last. Twelve bloody turns of the moon it had been, yet the final hour lingered on longer than all those months combined. Sandor thought about her as he closed his eyes, about what he would say to her once he saw her, once he could speak to her alone for the first time in a year. </p><p>It made him feel like a boy again. A sleepless boy on the eve of battle, equal parts thrilled and terrified. Or perhaps that was only terror, a dread that loomed deep within him, for Sandor knew that <em> this </em>, whatever it was, was only temporary. There would eventually be a time when twelve moon turns would pass and Sansa would never come. Or, even worse, Sansa would visit the Wall alongside her consort, a man that could and would never be him.</p><p>It was inevitable, Sandor knew. It would happen one of these years. And when it did… </p><p>The barracks had finally fallen silent and still, save for the snores and drowsy murmurs of his black brothers. Not long after, Satin snuck inside as quietly as the bastard’s wolf and nudged him on the shoulder. </p><p>It was time.</p><p>The winch cage took him up in all its creaking glory, more seconds, more everlasting minutes passing before he reached the top. The weather favored an outdoor engagement, moderate snows and winds with just a sliver of moonlight breaking through the clouds. When the cage came to a halt, he turned around and exited onto the walkway seven hundred feet in the air.</p><p>There she was standing before him, peering out to the north, her grey cloak and auburn tresses flowing behind her, regal and ethereally beautiful. </p><p>“See anything, little bird?” Sandor asked, as if those twelve turns of the moon had never happened at all.</p><p>“Do you think they’re out there?” she asked somberly, never turning around. Her bronze and iron crown glinted in the pale light when she took a deep breath. “The Others?”</p><p>A year it had been since he last heard her voice so close. It was melodious, in every sense of the word. It warmed him in a place where men only knew the cold. The Wall was not a miserable place when he was with her.</p><p>The wind carried her scent and filled his lungs, intoxicating in more ways than one. Sandor took a step forward, and then another, heart racing, and said, “They’re out there, girl. The rangers have seen them.” Once he was close enough, he placed his hands on her small shoulders and felt a weight lift from his own, sighing with relief. Touching her made him grateful to be alive. He kneaded her shoulders for a moment, becoming hard inside his breeches at the sound of her little whimpers, then turned her around. “There you are,” he said over the lump in his throat. “Gods, you’re beautiful.”</p><p>The smile on her lips did not reach her eyes, eyes bluer than even the ice beneath his feet when it was illuminated by beams of sun. He took her face between his hands, admiring, lusting, shaking. Just before he could bend down and kiss her, Sansa said, “Come back with me.”</p><p>This conversation usually did not occur until her last day at the Wall. And when it did, it never ended well. It always ended the same. Sandor emitted a heavy sigh and dropped his hands. “Sansa…”</p><p>“I’ll pardon you,” she went on, once again. Her jaw quivered as she spoke, the wind blowing stronger, colder. She clutched onto his black cloak and tugged on it, desperate to get her way. “I’ll pardon you and you can live in Winterfell with me. You can be home, Sandor, <em> with me</em>.”</p><p>Sandor forced himself to laugh, because if he didn’t, he would cry. “I wouldn’t last a day in Winterfell, girl. Not one bloody day.”</p><p>Neither her lips nor her eyes were smiling when she said, “If someone so much as touches you, I’ll send them straight here.”</p><p>“What good would that do if I’m dead?” When her pale face managed to grow paler, he added, “That’s right, little bird — dead. Just because I’m bigger than most men doesn’t mean I can’t be outnumbered or have my throat cut in my sleep. So long as I stay here, I can live. And so long as I live, I can see you. Until...” He cursed himself at once. The thoughts he had inside the barracks a moment ago were spilling out from his mouth, but that was not how he wanted to begin the one fortnight he would have with her until another twelve moon turns.</p><p>But it was too late - it had been said. Sansa’s eyes became wide, two bright burning flames of blue. “Until what?”</p><p>The thought was torturous, but the words more so. “What will you do once you’re wed?”</p><p>“<em>Wed</em>?” Sansa repeated, cocking her head to the side as if the word were foreign to her.</p><p>“You heard me.” He took a step back and looked her over from head to toe. “Look at you,” Sandor said throatily, his cock stiff and throbbing against his laces. “A woman of nine-and-ten. A queen with a kingdom. And that bloody kingdom needs an heir.”</p><p>She shook her head in denial. “I won’t.”</p><p>He laughed again, fighting the urge to scream from the pain he felt inside. Rotting in hell would hurt less. “How did it come to this, little bird?” Sandor wiped his gloved hands down his face, hard enough for it to sting. “How the fuck did it come to this?”</p><p>“It isn’t fair,” Sansa said, suddenly sobbing. She was beautiful, even then. He hated to think it when she was experiencing such grief, but she was. Sansa wrapped her arms around herself. “None of this is fair,” she sobbed. “You don’t know what it’s like.”</p><p>“<em>I don’t know what it’s like</em>?” Sandor laughed again, but this time it was genuine, one loud bark in utter disbelief. Had she truly said that? To <em> him</em>? “<em>I don’t know what it’s like</em>?”</p><p>“If you knew how hard it is for me, you would come home,” Sansa cried, tears streaming down her face that would freeze with the wind. “You would let me pardon you.”</p><p>“If I...” he felt himself burning up, the soles of his boots like to melt the ice beneath his feet. “Twelve buggering turns of the moon!” Sandor belted out, his black brothers hearing him be damned. “That’s how long I wait for you! <em> I don’t know what it’s like? </em> I come up here every bloody night and stare at the sky and think of you! Every bloody day for twelve bloody turns of the moon! Some nights I can see your face in the clouds and the stars. Some nights I can even hear your voice in the wind and the sound of you moaning. Some nights, most nights, I take out my cock and fuck myself right here to the thought of you. I cry <em> right here </em> thinking of <em> you</em>! <em> I don’t know what it’s like?</em>” He chuckled, unable to stop himself. “You should have let me fucking die! Why couldn’t you let me die?! Every time a raven comes, I hold my breath. And do you want to know why, girl? Because someday one of these buggering ravens will come bearing news of the Queen in the North’s new husband and I’ll have to throw myself off this buggering bloody Wall!”</p><p>Sansa covered her mouth with both hands, eyes more open than he had ever seen them. He had not seen her so frightened since she was a girl. It made him want to drop down on his knees and beg for forgiveness. It made him want to bend her over and toss up her skirts and fuck her on top of the world. Her eyes kept shifting from side to side, wet, yet uncrying, as if she were searching for a response somewhere on his face. Sandor felt sicker than he ever had in that moment. A year of waiting, and this is how he greeted her - by yelling, by telling her he would rather be dead than be there with her. Sandor hadn’t meant that. He wanted to live, he just didn’t want the pain. He just wanted Sansa to be in his life for more than one fortnight every twelve turns of the moon.</p><p>Her hands fell slowly and trembled, revealing those soft pink lips. “Don’t you ever say that again,” Sansa stammered. It wasn’t fear in her eyes any longer, but anger, that innate fierceness. “Don’t you ever think such a thing again.”</p><p><em> If only it were that easy, </em> he thought, painfully aware of how hard his cock was as he studied her frown. <em> If only it were not at the forefront of my mind every day. </em></p><p>Sandor casually cleared his throat, masking his deep regret for his earlier outburst. “Is that an order, Your Grace?”</p><p>Sansa’s frown deepened. “You’re doing it again.”</p><p>“Doing what?”</p><p>“You’re mocking me.”</p><p>He shrugged, only wishing he could feel so calm. “The Wall is in the North. You’re the Queen in the North. That makes you my queen.”</p><p>“No.” Sansa took his hands in hers and squeezed. As small and delicate as they were, it almost hurt. “I’m your little bird, Sandor,” she said with a pleading urgency, sobbing again. “Please...that’s all I ever want to be to you. Not your queen...just your little bird.”</p><p>He could not hold it in any longer. No amount of cynical laughter could save him now. Sandor closed his eyes slowly, one long blink, and then opened them to reveal his tears to her. “Fuck,” he exhaled sharply, before taking in a shuddering breath. Sandor pulled out of her grip and then held her head firmly between his hands. “You’ll always be my little bird, Sansa. Always.”</p><p>They initiated it together, the first kiss after twelve turns of the moon apart. It did not matter how long he went without seeing her - a day, a year, a lifetime. He would never forget the sensation of her mouth on hers, her pace, how she turned her head to the right so that her nose nuzzled against his scars as their tongues found one another. </p><p>Some things could be forgotten after enough time, some skills unlearned, some instincts lost, but loving her withstood it all. Groping her, kissing her, tasting her, knowing where to place his hands to make her gasp and moan, it was unforgettable. Not even death could make him forget how sweet her tongue felt when it brushed against his own, nor the way she would tug his bottom lip with her teeth. So small and delicate and pure. She was his.</p><p>“Oh gods, I love you,” Sansa panted, pulling away to fill her lungs with air. “I love you, Sandor.”</p><p>He pulled her mouth back to his and moaned the words against her lips. “I love you, my little bird. My Sansa.” </p><p>She said it again as they kissed, her words echoing inside his throat. They were his poison, and Sansa Stark was his bane. The woman who gifted him the only happy memories of his life was the same woman who could tell him to jump off the edge of the Wall and he would do it. He would do it without hesitation. A purpose. She was his purpose, he knew, tasting her lips and breathing her air, feeding his insatiable lust. Loving her was his purpose.</p><p>A woman grown, yet still so little when pressed up against his body. He could do anything to her, he could be forceful if wanted to, he could do as he pleased, yet somehow Sandor found himself struggling to keep up with her. The eagerness she displayed drove him wild. The taste of desperation on her lips, the fragrance of desire lingering in her hair, and to know it was all for him. It was something he would never understand. So Sandor held that small body a little closer before she would see him the same as everyone else: a dog, unworthy of forgiveness, unworthy of love.</p><p>The warming shed was two steps away, but they’d never make it that far. He bent his knees and sat down on the crushed stone that had been sprinkled over the walkway, pulling her down with him. Her legs straddled him intuitively, their bodies interlocking as seamlessly as their lips. The wall of ice behind his back was as cold as sin, piercing through the thickness of his cloak and tunic, yet the heat filling his lap and his mouth kept him warm, warmer than if he had been sitting beside a hearth. </p><p>Sansa gathered her skirts in her lap and said, in one breathy moan, “Fuck me here.”</p><p>Only Sansa Stark could make a word so foul sound poetic, passing her lips as delicately as the small, quick breaths he felt against his mouth.</p><p>Although the words were no different from a spell, a shred of logic returned when a sweeping gust of wind colder than ice surfed over the wall. “You’ll freeze up here if you undress.”</p><p>Breaking their kiss, Sansa sat back on his legs and opened up her thighs. “I don’t need to undress,” she simpered, grabbing his hand and placing it on her cunt. When his fingers trailed along the crease through her hose, Sansa pressed her hips closer and moaned. “Tear it open...<em> please</em>.”</p><p>That last shred of logic was carried off with the biting wind.</p><p>Sandor pinched the fabric on either side of the seam and pulled apart, repeating the process with her smallclothes until Sansa’s cunt poked right through the hole he had created. He could have spent himself inside his breeches right there, gazing at her pretty pink lips protruding from her hose. His pulse raged inside his throat. Sandor ripped off his glove with his teeth and then cupped her mound with his bare hand. </p><p>It was like holding his hand over a flame, except this flame was welcome to brush along his palm, the heat escaping her cunt thawing out his blood. Her maidenhair was a wisp of dark copper softer than silk, lovingly brushing his palm as he moved two fingers up and down, measuring her wetness. The sensation of her on his fingers, drenched and swollen and warm, made him toss his head back and moan.</p><p>By the time he lifted his head back up, Sansa’s gloved hands were making their way to where his cock all but tore through his laces. The queen’s little hands moved quickly and gracefully, unlacing his breeches and pulling out his cock in the span of a few short breaths.</p><p>A little whimper passed her lips when she took it in her hand, a stark contrast to whatever bestial sound was escaping him once he felt a fine leather glove softly tugging his cock. It did not matter how many times he fucked himself last night before her arrival. Once Sansa started sucking, stroking, or fucking him, the first whisper of his peak came not long after. And soon, it would be shouting.</p><p>“Sit on it, little bird,” he commanded, though the pleading tone of his voice betrayed him. </p><p>Sansa adjusted her straddle and reached under her skirts, guiding the head of his cock to that beating warmth between her thighs. When she lowered herself an inch, Sandor watched her wince the same as she had when she was still a maiden. He clawed the gravelly ice beneath him until his fingers ached. Feeling his girth pry her open inch by inch was an agonizing bliss. He clenched his jaw and resisted the urge to grab her hips and plunge his cock inside her.</p><p>When Sansa’s weight came down and his cock plunged inside to meet her warm embrace, he seized her hips, forcing her to stay still before he’d come.</p><p>“Let go a little,” she giggled, squeezing his cock tighter as she did.</p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>.” Sandor threw his head back against the ice forcefully this time, hoping the pain might help him forget some of the pleasure. It did, but it wouldn’t for long. As soon as he released her hips very, very slowly, Sansa began to move up and down. He tossed his head back again, harder. “Seven bloody buggering hells, I missed your pretty cunt.”</p><p>Moaning, Sansa placed her hands on either side of his face and traced the curve of his nose with her thumb. He knew what that was - a silent demand for him to watch her, knowing full well he was like to spill once he did.</p><p>He opened his eyes cautiously, thinking of a massive pit of burning, raging fire to keep him from coming too soon.</p><p>And little good that did. The instant he found the Queen in the North’s heavy-lidded eyes and parted lips it was over. Sandor could only sit there in that agonizing bliss and take her waist, watching her bounce up and down. He felt his balls pulling towards his body, but he couldn’t look away any more than he could ignore how tight and warm and wet she was. </p><p>A strand of hair fell over her face, glittering copper in the moonlight, while the rest fluttered softly behind her with the wind. <em> Too perfect for this world, </em> he thought, biting his tongue until it bled. <em> She’s too perfect. </em> A breath away from shooting his seed, Sandor forced his eyes away from her mouth and watched the iron circlet still sitting perfectly atop her head gleam upon her every undulation. Even that was too provocative a sight; a queen was fucking him.</p><p>“Put a child in me.” </p><p>His eyes snapped back to hers, eyes so blue, so beseeching. </p><p>As she circled her hips, Sansa’s breath hitched in her throat when she said, “Come inside me, Sandor.”</p><p>Suddenly, he was seething - at all of it. Touching her, kissing her, fucking her, knowing he could never fully have her. A taste, he could have, a moment, a memory, but never her. Not how he wanted her. Not how he needed her. All he would ever have was one fortnight every twelve turns of the moon.</p><p>He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her face away from his. When Sansa’s hips grew still, he became acutely aware of how intensely his cock was pulsing inside of her. “A bastard, is that what you want?” he rasped, each word more strained than the last. “My <em> bastard</em>. The Hound’s bloody bastard?”</p><p>For a moment she was silent, her eyes searching his face again. “No,” Sansa finally whispered, her gloved fingers caressing his scars, the most tender, phantom sensation. “Sandor Clegane’s child. That’s what I want.” She blinked and a single tear fell. “<em>Our </em> child.”</p><p>He pulled her hair tighter, grunting when her cunt squeezed around him in response. “And what will you tell the northern lords when they learn that you’re with child?”</p><p>“I’m their<em> queen</em>,” she declared, resuming a slow rhythm. As she rocked her hips back and forth, Sansa looked him in the eye, fiercely and unwavering, and said, “Let them ask. I need not answer.”</p><p>Much like his logic, his anger fled. A wiser man would have known not to impregnate the Queen in the North out of wedlock, but Sandor was not wise, not now - he was foolishly in love. He was utterly thick in the head because of it. And who was he to deny her, his queen? Who was he to deny himself? He wanted it too, and dug his hands inside the hem of her smallclothes and cupped her bare arse, pulling her to him and controlling the pace, eager to break another vow.</p><p>Sansa’s cries of pleasure grew twice as loud, a melody in the night. “In twelve turns of the moon, I’ll visit with our child, Sandor,” she sobbed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Our child.”</p><p>There had to be a reason for it, for everything. A reason for why he left her in the Red Keep. A reason for why the Elder Brother found him and healed him. A reason for why Sansa came to him seconds before being executed. He could serve a purpose, even at the edge of the world. There <em> was </em> a reason for all of it, and it was for her. Everything always came back to her. He had been waiting for her since the day he was born, far longer than twelve turns of the moon. And he would wait longer for her still, until the day he died.</p><p>There was a season for everything, a time to be with her, and a time to be without. A time to love her, and a time to miss her. There was a time to feel her warmth, her kiss, her squirms, and there was a time to stand on the Wall and face south and long for her return. </p><p>A season to love her. A season to yearn for her. Every twelve turns of the moon.</p><p>Her nails pierced through her gloves and dug into his neck. “Oh gods, don’t you ever leave me.”</p><p>“Leave and go where, little bird?” he panted, knowing that was not how she meant it. There was a reason for that, too. A reason she wanted to meet on the Wall. A reason she had been looking out to the north with deep melancholy when he found her.</p><p>
  <em> The Others. She fears that I’ll die. </em>
</p><p>Sansa’s eyes closed shut, her nails digging deeper. “Oh, I- oh gods! Come with me, Sandor.”</p><p>Sandor knew how she meant that too, feeling her body shudder, groaning monstrously as her cunt milked his cock as she writhed on top of him. Sansa pressed her lips to his to dampen her moans, and that was the end of it.</p><p>Nothing could have made him hold out any longer. No thought, no memory, no god. The warmth in his cock spread throughout his body, and muscles he didn’t even know he had tensed up upon his release. Sandor squeezed her arse until her meat filled his palms and rocked her back and forth as his balls emptied inside her, his seed shooting lustily, greedy to fill her, eager to plant itself inside her womb. And he would do it again on the morrow, and then again the day after that. Again and again, each and every day, for one fortnight.</p><p>The season to love her was short, but it was here. And before the season would change, he would hold her in his arms as he softened inside her at the top of the world. He would love her now while he could have her. Another taste, another moment, another memory.</p><p>There was a time for everything. A time to embrace, a time to let go, and a time to wait twelve turns of the moon.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! ♥ </p><p>
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